


periphery

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Paranormal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a car accident, Louis goes on pretending that nothing ever happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	periphery

**Author's Note:**

> So my fascination with all things paranormal has taken over my life lately and I've had ghosts running through my mind every single day and I was just thinking one day, "Hey, why not make it a verse?" So here we are. The second work in my "Ghost of You" verse, the first being [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/400698) one.

It’s Tuesday morning and Louis opens his eyes a crack when sunlight flits through the break in his curtains.  
  
It takes him a few minutes to blink the sleep away and even longer than that to wake the muscles in his body to sit himself up properly, but he does eventually and he slides the blanket halfway down his legs and lifts his hands to his eyes and rubs them with the base of his palms, a yawn pushing out of his throat. It’s then that he notices the throbbing in the back of his head and he sits still for a few seconds, listening to the steady pulsing like an animal trying to break out of its cage, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember what happened last night.  
  
He knew it was a bad idea from the get-go.  
  
He’d just returned home from a tiring day at work when Zayn decided to call him up at half-past five and tell him that  _there’s this new club down the street from my place and I want you to check it out with me_. Usually, he’d politely decline because he’s not really into the club scene, never was, never will be, and in the rare instances that Zayn _does_  manage to drag him from his computer and get him to  _live a little_ , it’s always him stuck in the bar looking around the place while Zayn dances with guys left and right, their hands on his body always groping something inappropriate, and it’s usually a complete waste because he’ll just be sitting and taking baby sips from his glass like he’s waiting for his mother to pick him up when he’d rather be typing up his report for the next day so he wouldn’t have to worry about it when he got home.  
  
But this time, he decided to indulge him because it’s been a while since they hung out, him being busy at work and Zayn busy being Zayn (which usually involves bringing a guy home at night then sleeping through the day to get over his hangover, before going back to the club and taking a different guy and rinse and repeat), and he did miss watching Zayn tear up the dance floor with that sultry, vulgar way he moves his hips, and Louis sometimes wonders what it would be like to be beautiful like him, what it feels like to grab someone’s attention with a stroke of his hair. But he guesses things wouldn’t have worked out the way they did if he could have had anybody from the club, and he would have never seen Harry’s smiling face pushing through the crowd with two drinks in his hands making his way to him.  
  
He sighs and he’s half-tempted to lie back down and attempt get back to sleep. He doesn’t have work and it’s a  _Tuesday_ , for God’s sake, and nothing ever happens on Tuesdays, so it shouldn’t be a bad idea to sleep off his hangover and maybe go check up on Zayn to see if he made it home fine because he can’t remember. The hammering in his head makes it hard to make a decision, though, and with a groan, he inches over until his feet are touching the carpet, and he heaves himself to his feet in one slow, hesitant movement.  
  
He drags his feet across the floor, stopping every now and then to steady his vision, and makes his way to the bathroom.  
  
The first thing he sees is his naked body on the full-length mirror, and through his shaky eyesight, he can just see how much weight he’d lost. It wasn’t that he wasn’t eating (he’s still eating normally, or as normally as he possibly can), it’s just been hard for him ever since the accident.  
  
He takes a sharp breath at the thought and tears his eyes away from the mirror, and he shakes his head and opens the medicine cabinet.  
  
What happened then doesn’t matter now because everything’s fine. He’s fine and Zayn’s fine and it wasn’t Harry’s fault that they collided with the car, some horrible accident that could have happened to anyone and they just happened to be driving in the wrong place at the wrong time.  
  
He reaches a hand to touch the back of his head and he feels ridges on the skin. He needed twenty stitches and Zayn needed to go to a chiropractor for three weeks, and Harry— He doesn’t remember what treatment Harry needed, and it always slips his mind to ask because he can’t seem to recall much of what happened after, but it doesn’t matter now. He’s just glad the whole situation’s over and they can finally move on with their lives.  
  
He takes the bottle of aspirin next to a stack of band-aids and shakes the contents. The scattering sound tells him it’s nearly empty, and he makes a mental note to stop by the drug store later.  
  
He twists open the top and shakes two tablets out on his palm, and he looks at himself in the mirror before closing his eyes and opening his mouth.  
  
“You need to eat before you take pills, remember?”  
  
The sound makes Louis stop and he opens his eyes.  
  
He looks around the bathroom.  
  
It’s Harry’s voice but he can’t see him, and he’s not in the bathtub, not in the hallway, not around the corner, and he blinks a few times to try and figure out if he’d imagined the sound. Giving up, he goes back to his reflection, watching the way his eyelids hang low over his eyes, the dark bags underneath spreading like ink on paper.  
  
Sleep used to come easy, but ever since he was released from the hospital, it’s like his mind refuses to cooperate with him, and he had to resort to taking sleeping pills a few times because he’s started to fear that he’s becoming an insomniac.  
  
Sometimes he can feel Harry at night, right before he drifts off to sleep, and he loves the way his bracelets would tickle the skin on his waist or his breath brushing against his ear when he whispers  _“I love you, Lou”_  and it sounds like a song, almost, deep and slow and steady and it wraps around his head until it’s only a murmur and he curls deeper into Harry’s warm skin and he can feel his heart beating on his back, drum beats echoing his own until they’re beating as one and the last thing Louis does before sleep takes him is pull Harry’s arm closer and press his hand on his chest to let him know that his heart’s beating for him.  
  
He drops his eyes back to the pills and thinks for a moment, listening for any movements that aren’t his own, but he doesn’t hear anything and he closes his hand, feeling the tablets push against his skin, and he turns on the tap and runs his free hand under the water.  
  
  


-

  
  
The smell of bacon and eggs hangs in the air as Louis flips the pancake with a quick toss of the pan, and he laughs when it catches the edge of the counter and splatters all over the floor.  
  
Harry’s always been the one who flips the pancakes while he sets the table and pours their drinks, orange juice for Louis because he needs to strengthen his immune system, milk for Harry because he wants stronger bones. Why Harry decided to let him cook today is still a mystery, but it distracts him well enough that he can’t feel the migraine anymore, and he smiles to himself as he bends low with a towel and starts to wipe the mess from the tiles.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want one? I’m getting better at it, I think,” Louis says with a chuckle, voice echoing in the kitchen.  
  
“I’ll pass, Lou.”  
  
Louis snaps his head to the living room and stands up, putting the towel on the counter and taking a few steps forward. He pokes his head through the doorway and sees that the living room’s empty, the sofa’s undisturbed, and the television’s turned off.  
  
He smiles.  
  
Harry’s always been the best at hide and seek.  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis stands in front of Zayn’s flat and he sighs before knocking on the door three times.  
  
The text message sounded urgent, which shouldn’t surprise him at this point because Zayn’s always been slightly overdramatic, loves to exaggerate the way people love to breathe, but it always works in the end because Louis always comes running like he lives next door (he wishes he did because then he wouldn’t have to drive ten minutes to get there), and he’s told Louis himself that he’s his last true friend, someone that’s going to stick with him when his looks fade and all he has to rely on is his personality and the last thing Louis wants to do is let him down.  
  
The lock clicks on the other side and the door swings open, and he’s greeted by a shirtless Zayn with his pants hanging halfway down his hips and a cigarette between his lips. He leans against the frame and looks at Louis with bunny red eyes, the smell of smoke swirling around them like a thick fog and Louis holds his breath politely, still can’t stand the smell and always wondering why Zayn keeps doing it.  
  
“Well, what is it?” Louis asks, eyes focused on Zayn.  
  
Zayn smiles around his cigarette and stands up straight, and he tosses his head inside before turning around and walking away. Louis can’t sigh because there’s still smoke threatening to suffocate him so he just scratches his head before taking a step inside and shutting the door behind him.  
  
Zayn’s flat isn’t particularly small but it never fails to make him feel slightly claustrophobic. Whether it’s the narrow halls or the ever-present smoke swirling around the place like the walls themselves have started to contribute to the cause, he doesn’t know, but then again, he never stays long enough to dwell on it. There’s empty picture frames hanging from the plain brown wallpaper and Louis always wonders why he never bothers to take them down, but looking at the clothes unceremoniously thrown everywhere (Zayn’s almost like a snake in looks and behavior), he knows he shouldn’t question Zayn’s laziness anymore.  
  
Louis finds him sitting on the sofa with one of his legs hanging on the armrest, and he sticks the cigarette in the ashtray next to him and flashes Louis a smile. Louis crosses his arms and steps forward, but he freezes when he sees someone with shaggy brown hair sitting next to him.  
  
“Lou-Lou,” Zayn coos, motioning for him to get closer. “Come here, there’s someone I want to you meet.”  
  
Louis watches him, eyes flicking to the stranger every now and then, before he hesitantly walks forward and sits on the reclining seat opposite them, a gift from Zayn’s grandma.  
  
“Lou, this is Liam. Say hi, Liam.”  
  
Liam, who’s previously sitting inclined forward with his elbows on his thighs, straightens his back and gives Louis a smile, and a jolt runs down his spine. He doesn’t know what it means or if it even happened at all, but all he knows is Liam’s smile is infectious and it doesn’t take him long to return the action.  
  
“Hi there, er… Lou,” Liam says, standing up and reaching his arm across the coffee table to offer his hand, and Louis takes a second and a half to recover and take it in his own. Liam’s hand is warm and smooth and Louis can feel his face heating up, and he tries to dismiss it as the fumes irritiating his skin and Zayn’s flat has always been stuffy because he hates having the windows open, but when Liam pulls his hand back, he realizes with a smile that the heat is coming from under his skin.  
  
“Hi Liam, nice to meet you,” Louis says, sitting back down and shifting his eyes to Zayn, who gives him a sly smile as he reaches for the cigarette pack in his pocket.  
  
“I met Liam at the bar last night,” Zayn explains, reaching in his other pocket for his lighter. “Stayed the night. Did some stuff.”  
  
“No surprises there,” Louis says, but Zayn doesn’t hear him and goes on.  
  
“Then we got to talking after and let me tell you, Lou, he’s like the perfect match. You’re into the same things and shit and I think you guys’ll have fun together.”  
  
Louis can’t believe what he’s hearing and he shoots Zayn a sharp look, but Zayn brushes it off and elbows Liam, who starts at the action and gives another smile.  
  
“Zayn talked about you quite a bit last night,” Liam says, and Louis feels the warmth spreading again, burning his cheeks and setting his heart in motion. “And it seemed for a moment like he was more interested in you than me.”  
  
Louis looks at Zayn and Zayn shrugs at him as he takes a hit, letting the smoke slither out between his lips and Louis thinks he’s never looked more like a snake at that moment, and he sighs and turns back to Liam, who’s looking at him with bright eyes and he looks almost like a puppy in contrast, and he wonders what ever made him want to come home with someone like Zayn in the first place.  
  
“Good things, I hope?” Louis asks, leaning back in his chair and batting away the smoke trying to squeeze into his lungs.  
  
Liam smiles. “Great, actually.”  
  
  


-

  
  
“Well, I think I’d better be going,” Liam says, standing up and straightening his shirt. “Need to get up early for work tomorrow.”  
  
Louis looks up and jumps to his feet, still trying to figure out how one person can be so charming and nice and good-looking at the same time.  
  
“Sure,” Louis says. “Of course. It was, erm, it was really nice talking to you, Liam. Thanks.”  
  
Liam slides his hands in his pockets and lets another smile through. Louis can’t help but watch.  
  
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Liam says, grinning now, and Louis likes the way his eyes disappear when he smiles, just curved black slits on his face and maybe Liam really _was_  a dog in a past life, and the thought makes him smile.  
  
“Will I see you again?” Louis asks, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them, and Liam laughs and bends down to pick up a pen on the coffee table.   
  
Louis looks over and sees Zayn curled up on the end of the sofa, sleeping, hands balled into fists close to his lips, breathing slowly and steadily, and out of instinct, he looks at his watch. 6:40. About three more hours of sleep until it’s time to hit the club and cruise another boy.  
  
He doesn’t have time to shake his head because all of a sudden, Liam’s holding out a small piece of paper inches from his face, and Louis slowly slips it out of his fingers and scans the writing. Seven numbers in blotchy red ink. He lifts his head and looks at Liam, who’s taken a step back and is now looking at Louis expectantly with his bright brown eyes.  
  
“It’s my number,” Liam says, stuffing his hands in his pockets again and dropping his gaze to the floor. “Just give me a call if you want to hang out or talk or anything.”  
  
Louis brings his eyes to the digits again and reads it five more times before turning back to Liam, a smile erupting in his face.  
  
“You bet.”  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis smiles and waves goodbye under the doorway until Liam’s car disappears around the bend, and he lingers for a moment and looks at the piece of paper in his hand one more time, trying to memorize the numbers back to front just in case he loses it.  
  
He turns around and closes the door behind him before making his way back to the living room, where Zayn, apparently having woken up while he saw Liam out, now sits upright on the sofa rubbing his eyes, a yawn escaping his lips.  
  
“What time is it, Lou?” Zayn asks around another yawn, stretching his long, slender arms in the air.  
  
“It’s barely seven,” Louis replies, sitting back down on the reclining chair and watching Zayn scratch his head. “You’ve still got two more hours of sleep. Get back to it. I’ll just see myself out.”  
  
“Nah, I’m not that tired anyway,” Zayn says, moving his back against the armrest and stretching his legs down the length of the sofa.  
  
Everything about Zayn is long: his torso, his limbs, his face, his eyelashes. Especially his eyelashes, almost like a camel’s, and Louis knows for a fact that he takes great care of them and it shows because every strand is perfect down to the ends, like he takes the tiniest brush in the universe and gives each side a hundred strokes every night before he goes to bed and another hundred when he wakes up.  
  
Louis doesn’t take care of himself the way Zayn does, but he never really considered himself beautiful anyway, not beautiful like Zayn, where perfection is almost a necessity because he lives in a world where one can go from being the most desired person to the most easily forgotten in the blink of an eye, and every day that passes by is a reminder that beauty doesn’t last forever and he has to work twice as much as he did the day before to look the same way, and behind the curtains of body glitter and the newest hair products, Louis can see that it’s finally taking a toll on him, more than he ever lets on.  
  
“Aren’t you going back to the club tonight?” Louis asks, and Zayn sighs and shakes his head.  
  
“Not tonight. I think I’ll just sleep in.”  
  
Louis raises an eyebrow. “That’s a surprise.”  
  
“Isn’t it?” Zayn turns his head and looks at Louis with a smile. Louis creases his brows and looks back, having decided a long time ago to stop trying to figure out what goes on in his head.  
  
“What?”  
  
Zayn’s smile spreads from ear to ear. “So? What did you think of Liam?”  
  
Louis’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second at the name and he clears his throat, eyes dropping down to the coffee table and following the intricate floral pattern on a coaster sitting next to an ashtray.  
  
“He’s… nice, I guess,” is all Louis can say, his voice softer than he wants it to be, and he feels the flames starting up under his cheeks again, like the sound of Liam’s name is Zayn’s lighter, impossible to resist when it comes near the end of a cigarette, and he flicks his eyes to Zayn for a moment before going back to the coaster because the grin on his face is almost splitting his face in half. Louis hates when one of Zayn’s plans succeeds.  
  
“Cute too, huh?” Zayn says, and Louis hears him shift in his seat. “That birthmark on his neck’s something else, innit? And he also has this cute little mole on the base of his p—”  
  
“I don’t need to know all that, thanks,” Louis cuts in, shaking his head because talking to Zayn long enough will eventually lead to a discussion about what he does in bed and who he does it with, and most of the time, Louis prefers not to hear it at all than trying to tune him out altogether.  
  
He looks at Zayn and tucks his legs under him.   
  
“What are you trying to do, anyway?”  
  
“What else do you think, idiot?” Zayn says. “I’m trying to set you up with a really cool guy. I think it’s about time you moved on, you know?”  
  
Louis furrows his brows and shoots Zayn a look of confusion. “What do you mean? Move on from what?”  
  
Alarm flashes on Zayn’s face and he jumps to his feet, looking down at Louis with narrowed eyes. Louis shrinks back in his seat in surprise.  
  
“Do  _not_  do this again, Louis, not this time,” Zayn warns sharply, voice gaining momentum, and Louis stands up, trying to stare Zayn down because he doesn’t know why he’s acting like this all of a sudden, hates it when he gets like this.  
  
“What is the matter with you, Zayn?” Louis asks incredulously. “Why are you being like this?”  
  
Zayn pinches the space between his eyes and heaves a deep sigh. “Please, Louis. Don’t—don’t do this. Not now. Please. Liam’s—he’s a great guy, Lou, and he likes you. I know he does. Don’t let him get away because—”  
  
“Because what?” Louis slices through, confusion and apprehension falling over him like a thick liquid, and Zayn looks at him with wide eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about Zayn?”  
  
“It’s easier to forget about it, Lou, trust me,” Zayn pleads, tone getting desperate now, like Louis is slipping through his fingers and he’s scared of losing him, and Louis just looks at him in disbelief, heart thrashing against his ribcage and he can feel his hands shaking.  
  
“I—I think I’m gonna go,” Louis says simply, averting Zayn’s dark, glassy eyes, and he turns around and makes his way down the hallway, trying to block out Zayn’s protests and pleads for him to come back. He opens the door and takes a step outside.  
  
The air is cold around him like winter’s come too early, and he tightens his jumper around his body as he makes his way to his car, pushing out the thoughts pummeling his brain like rainfall with each heavy step on the concrete.

 

-

 

Louis shrugs off his jumper when he hears the door close behind him, the smell of nicotine coating every thread, and instead of holding his breath, he takes long, quick strides to the bathroom and dumps it in the washing machine, followed by his shirt and his pants, and when he closes the top, he lingers for a moment and goes back to what happened at Zayn’s flat.  
  
Sometimes, Zayn likes to be cryptic. Louis just dismisses it as a quirk because Zayn’s a pretty quirky guy, having characteristics that may seem odd or out of place in regular situations, like his irrational fear of cracks in the sidewalk, and his tendency to say cryptic things is just another item to add on his list. It’s usually fun to try to figure out what he means, especially when his speech is slurred by alcohol and every word sounds like the one before it and pretty soon, he’s just saying gibberish until Louis decides to change the subject or sleep takes him out, but his talks of  _moving on_  and _forgetting_  leaves a bitter taste on Louis’s tongue, like there’s something in his life that isn’t perfect enough that he needs another person to fill a void that isn’t even there in the first place.  
  
He sighs and leaves the bathroom, feet taking him straight to his bed, and he peels off his socks and slides under the covers, feeling the soft fabric brush against his skin and he curls into himself, touching his lips with his knees, arms coiled around his legs, and he tries to make himself as compact as possible, a larva fashioning itself a cocoon made of cotton, because he doesn’t want to think about it anymore, wants the image of Zayn’s pleading eyes erased from his mind and all he wants to do is wake up in the morning good as new and go on like nothing happened.  
  
He feels himself drifting off, his eyelids getting heavier, but before sleep takes him over, he feels a set of arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him close and holding him tight, and he hears the soft clinking of bracelets on his stomach before catching the familiar scent of cologne, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes and look behind him to know who it is.  
  
“Zayn tried to shrink me, Harry,” Louis breathes into his knees, his hands coming up to grip Harry’s wrists.  
  
“He doesn’t know anything.”  
  
Louis smiles and presses himself closer to him. “He introduced me to this guy Liam. He’s really nice.”  
  
“I’m all you need.”  
  
Louis opens his mouth to reply but the words are caught in his throat and his heart starts to race, and his mind flashes to the image of Harry on a stretcher holding on to Louis’s hand as tight as he could, face marked by dried blood and cuts and ugly bruises, and Louis shuts his eyes and tries to push the memory away.  
  
“I love you,” Louis whispers, squeezing Harry’s hands and pushing them against his chest, and he feels Harry’s breath brush against his ear and it sends a shiver down his spine.  
  
He waits patiently, listening to his own breathing and the creaking of the bed when he shifts further into Harry, and Harry lies motionless behind him, his grip on Louis’s waist loosening, his body getting more distant with every beat of his heart. Louis notices this with alarm and he pulls on Harry’s arms and wraps them around his body tighter, as tight as he possibly can, not wanting to let go, not just yet, not until he hears him say it.  
  
“Harry, I love you.”  
  
Silence.  
  
Louis can feel tears brimming around his eyes and he opens them slowly, expecting to trace the hairs on Harry’s arms, but they’re not there, gone without a trace, like they were never there in the first place, and Louis’s breath starts to shake, emptiness spreading in his stomach.  
  
He sits up and looks around him, trying to find any sign that Harry’s only left for a few moments and he’ll be back in no time and they can sleep together again like they used to, limbs tangled up like vines and Harry singing in his ears to lull him to sleep and Louis swears he could still hear his voice loud and clear in his dreams, but the bedroom’s as empty as it was when he came in, and he rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and lies back down, watching the patterns on his ceiling until they dissolve into circles and lines, and before he can stop them, the tears begin to fall, and he pulls the covers close around him and cries himself to sleep.  
  
  


-

  
  
It takes Louis and Zayn exactly two days to get back on speaking terms, Zayn calling him up nonstop to apologize and leaving identical voice messages when Louis decided to ignore his phone for a few hours, and he figures Zayn hadn’t meant any harm doing what he did, just wanted to get everything back to the way things were and Louis reckons he should appreciate his efforts, and before long, he finds himself standing in front of Zayn’s flat, knocking on the door three times and stepping back to wait for him to answer.  
  
Zayn appears behind the door fully clothed, a rare occurrence, and his face lights up when his eyes land on Louis.  
  
“Long time no see, Lou-Lou,” Zayn says, a smile slowly spreading on his face, and Louis chuckles. He’s always abhorred the nickname but it’s like Zayn refuses to call him by anything else, thinks  _Lou-Lou_  fits his personality perfectly and Louis has to wonder at this because the name makes him seem like he’s a fifty-year-old woman battling the early stages of menopause.  
  
“You gonna let me in?”  
  
Zayn grins and steps aside, gesturing dramatically to the hallway and Louis shakes his head with a smile, glad they can still settle disputes with good old-fashioned name-calling and strategically-timed insults. Louis makes his way down the hallway and hears the door close behind him, and before he reaches the living room, Zayn’s voice calls out loud as a car horn, “Guess who’s come to visit!”  
  
Louis doesn’t know exactly who it is he’s talking to, but he doesn’t dwell on the question long because he sees the familiar brown hair of Liam sitting in the sofa, a glass held in his hand, and he feels his breath hitch and his face heat up, and he turns back to Zayn with a smile threatening to break out.  
  
“What—”  
  
“Liam here’s been wondering why you haven’t called him yet,” Zayn interrupts, pushing past Louis and sitting next to Liam. Liam scratches his head in embarrassment and elbows Zayn, and Louis can’t help but feel a smile break out when he makes his way to the reclining chair.  
  
“I, er… Well, you see…” Louis starts, trying to grab words out of thin air because he’s completely forgotten about calling him, can’t even remember if he managed to save his number, and he doesn’t want to seem like he’s a snob and he’s not interested because he’s not and he’s really intrigued by Liam, had loads of fun talking to him about anything that popped in his head and Liam seemed like he always knew what to say, like he has a book on Louis and it’s as easy as flipping through the pages and finding the right chapter.  
  
“I totally get it if you’re not interested,” Liam says all of a sudden and Louis pauses, taken aback by the statement. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel like you have to give me a chance just because I’m persistent or anything.”  
  
Louis is at a loss for words and he looks at Zayn, smile still viper-like as ever, before turning back to Liam with an awkward smile.  
  
“I don’t know how you can turn this down,” Zayn says, picking up a cigarette from the ashtray and pushing it between his lips. “Just look at him. Rejecting him’s like kicking a puppy in the face. Do you like kicking puppies in the face, Lou?”  
  
“Of course I don’t, you bleeding lunatic,” Louis defends irritably, taking the pillow he’s sitting on and chucking it at Zayn. Zayn catches it with a laugh and hands it over to Liam, who looks at them with furrowed brows, unsure of what to do, before shrugging and settling on putting it on his lap.  
  
“So you’re  _not_  rejecting him?” Zayn asks, having too much fun at Louis’s expense as always, and Louis sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, picturing himself strangling Zayn with a belt in the back of his head.  
  
“Sorry I haven’t called,” Louis finally says, opening his eyes and turning his attention to Liam, and Liam’s face lights up at once, watching Louis earnestly. “I’ve just been busy with things lately and it’s slipped my mind is all.”  
  
“That’s a relief,” Liam says, and he leans back in his seat with a smile. “I thought I really messed something up.”  
  
“No, no, you were great,” Louis assures, leaning over and resting his elbows in his thighs. “I’m just—I’m really bad at these things and Zayn’s always trying to set me up and they usually don’t work out and—”  
  
“No need to explain yourself,” Liam says, shaking his head and giving the pillow to Zayn. “I’m the exact same way.”  
  
Louis feels his smile stretching into a grin and he flicks his eyes to Zayn, who gives him a nod of encouragement, and he turns back to Liam with a lightness in his chest.  
  
“I guess we can take things slow,” he says.  
  
Liam breaks out into a grin of his own.  
  
“I’d love that.”  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis stands in front of his closet and pushes through the racks, trying to find a shirt that isn’t striped because it’s his and Liam’s first official date and he wants to look his best.  
  
A few days of meeting at Zayn’s house and talking over the phone finally gave Liam the courage to ask Louis out, and at first, it catches Louis off-guard because he wasn’t expecting it at all, didn’t think the day would come this fast, but he knows Liam well enough at this point, knows that he genuinely likes him and thinks he’s a great guy and something in his eyes tells Louis that he won’t be just another one of Zayn’s failed experiments, not like the ones who went and left before Harry came into the picture.  
  
The thought of Harry makes Louis stop and he pulls his hand back and closes his eyes, trying to block out the faint smell of cologne spreading around the room. It fills his lungs like rushing water and he steels himself, tries to breathe normally, tries to calm his heart because it’s like Harry wants to take it with him, can feel Harry’s fingers wrapping around it like tightly-wound string and he doesn’t want him to have it, not just yet.  
  
The sensation goes as quickly as it appears and he opens his eyes and looks at his clothes, wondering if it’s the right thing to do. But then he sees Liam’s face in the back of his mind and he thinks that maybe it is, that maybe Zayn’s right and he needs it after all.  
  
He sighs and shuffles through the clothes again.  
  
His hand pauses at a green-striped shirt, a thrift store find a few weeks back, and pulls it out, holding it against his body and looking down to see how it looks.  
  
“You always looked best in blue.”  
  
Louis looks up and smiles.  
  
He hangs it back on the rack and grabs the blue flannel shirt Harry got him for their anniversary.  
  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis doesn’t remember the last time he was taken out on a date, seems like a lifetime ago that he spent some time with Harry giggling like children in a restaurant or sharing popcorn in an empty movie theater watching some sappy romance film they never bothered to follow because all they wanted was to be alone, and Louis is surprised at how easily the laughs come when Liam says something, says a simple joke or a quip about the weather or how he looks great in his shirt and it’s not long until he finds himself blushing like a teenaged girl with her fingers around her hair, sipping milkshake through a bendy straw.  
  
Liam’s laid back and knowledgeable about things that Louis hasn’t even considered thinking about in everyday situations, like telling him why ducks go south when they see a flock of them flying through the clouds out the restaurant window, and if it were anyone but him, he would have probably tuned out, started thinking about why he’s sat there talking about bloody ducks of all things, but Liam has a way with words and his voice is thick and smooth and it falls over Louis like honey and it’s hard to ignore it, hard to overlook the twinkle in his eyes like they’re telling him he’s having a great time, that he’s thankful Louis accepted his offer.  
  
It was never a matter whether he would accept or not, Liam’s just that type of person you can’t turn down. He doesn’t know whether it’s his smile or the charming way he says his name, curling over his tongue, smooth as silk, and Louis wonders just what it is about Liam that makes him feel comfortable, comfortable enough to share with him what happened to the three of them the night of the accident without precedent, just slipping out of his mouth like it’s regular tableside conversation and Liam listens intently, eyes tracing out the words forming around his lips, absentmindedly stirring his soda with the straw.  
  
“That’s terrible,” Liam says with a frown when Louis pauses, and Louis sinks back in his chair and picks at his fingernails next to his plate of half-eaten pasta, thinking about how the discussion suddenly took a detour from their hobbies to  _this_. “And Harry, was he fine too?”  
  
The name strikes up a match under his skin and he looks around the restaurant expecting to see him, scanning the faces of the patrons to see if he can spot his green eyes anywhere, and he feels his heart speed up and his throat constrict. He turns back to Liam for a second before focusing again on his hands, and he sighs before he continues.  
  
“Harry had it the worst,” he starts, thinking hard on the words, and the image of Harry beaten up, nearly unconscious hangs in his mind like a broken projector screen playing the same scene over and over again, and he shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink to try to push it away. “The doctors said he suffered head trauma and a few broken ribs, and it surprised them that he managed to hold on long enough until we got to the hospital.”  
  
“At least you made it just in time, yeah?” Liam says, leaning forward and flashing Louis a smile to make him feel better, and it works on the surface because Louis manages to smile back despite the hammering in his chest, the burning in his veins. He nods and shifts his gaze to Liam.  
  
“We were all drunk that night, you see. Zayn wanted to try out this new club just outside of town because he slept with the DJ once, and we were more than eager to come along. Zayn knows all the best places.” Louis swallowed thickly and his mind relays back to that night, back through Harry’s smoky, laugh-filled blue Volvo he got for his sixteenth birthday, back when he failed to notice the car coming straight at them like a runaway train, a metal deathtrap without any intention of stopping.  
  
“We had a few drinks and we partied until three, Zayn getting numbers from four different guys because he’s so persuasive and sexy and, let’s face it, he’s irresistible, and we only left because I told them I had to get up early for work, and Harry took us all home and we were still chugging down bottles in the backseat even though we knew we shouldn’t have, and I knew that it was a bad idea to let Harry drive from the get-go. I just didn’t do anything.”  
  
“Surely, you don’t blame yourself,” Liam says and Louis almost nods his reply when he hears Harry’s voice behind him.  
  
“It’s all your fault.”  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut and he feels Harry’s hand gripping his shoulder, heavy and familiar but not warm, it was never warm, like ice-cold needles pushing through his skin, and he shakes at the touch, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, bitterness filling his mouth, and he hears Liam’s voice cut through the laughter filling his ears, eerily distant but clear as bells.  
  
He opens his eyes and Harry’s gone and he looks at Liam with wide eyes, fear etched in his pupils, and he pushes his chair back and gets to his feet, picking up the napkin that had fallen on the floor and dropping it on the table.  
  
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Liam asks as he stands up, and Louis can only shake his head, the feeling of Harry’s hand lingering on his skin like a burn mark, like the stitches in the back of his head, and he grips the edge of the table takes a few deep breaths, trying to make his eyes focus. “Louis, look at me. What happened?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” Louis says, and before Liam can open his mouth to protest, Louis grabs his jumper from the back of his chair and turns to leave.

 

-

 

Louis sits in front of his computer and hovers his fingers over the keys, tapping them lightly now and then to get the ideas flowing, but he’s too distracted and his eyes glaze over his report, the first page barely half-filled and the blinking text line’s starting to get on his nerves. Filling up three bloody pages on a bloody sales report was never an issue for Louis, always got it done days before it’s due, done it a billion times and it’s almost second-nature, really, but he can’t get the thought of walking out on Liam out of his head, and he leans back in his chair and heaves a deep sigh.  
  
It’s never escalated to that, never sensed the hostility he felt when he heard Harry’s voice in the restaurant and it scared him because that’s not Harry, Harry doesn’t feel like winter’s clutching at his heart in a vicegrip, doesn’t feel like metal scraping against his tongue. This is new, Louis thinks, how Harry felt so cold and distant, and he wonders if Liam had something to do with it.  
  
He stands up and presses the power button on his monitor, having lost all will to keep writing, and he pulls off his pants and sits on the bed, keeping his eyes on the wall and pulling himself back to the day of the accident.  
  
He can see himself tugging furiously at his seatbelt in the passenger’s seat, blood rushing to his head until he can hear his heart hammering in his ears. The car’s completely turned upside down, just off the road where the other car had dragged them along for several feet before breaking away and smashing through the safety railing and plummeting into the waters below. He manages to free himself and his forehead collides with the windshield, and through the piercing headache, he pulls himself upright and desperately shakes Harry’s shoulder to get him to open his eyes.  
  
Everything’s in flashes after that, doesn’t really flow in his head as smoothly as the others and he has to think harder to put them together, to make sense of it all.  
  
There’s Zayn pulling Harry out of the car. Harry on the ground, face bloodied and beaten, a scar across his forehead. Zayn on a stretcher, howling in pain. Harry on a stretcher, eyes shut, dried tears on his cheeks. Louis holding his hand, Harry squeezing tight. The ambulance door closes and there’s nothing after that.  
  
He rubs his eyes and falls back on his bed, exasperation filling his veins at his lapse in memory and it frustrates him to no end how it all just fades into black, like some part of his brain’s been cut out and locked away but he knows it’s there, he can feel in it his bones, and all he needs is the key.  
  
“Why can’t I remember?” he whispers, trying to claw his way out of the ambulance doors but it’s always just him lying on the bed with his head wrapped up in bandages and needles stuck in his skin.  
  
It’s like it never happened at all.  
  
“There’s no need to remember.”  
  
Louis’s body tenses and he slowly lifts himself and sits up, eyes looking around the room.  
  
“I need to, Harry. Please.”  
  
He waits and feels a draft come in from the window, prickling his skin. He closed that window.  
  
He feels a hand running through his hair, fingers twisting around the strands, nails pressing lightly against his scalp and he breathes unsteadily, muscles frozen, eyes open wide, and he inhales sharply when Harry’s finger traces the outline of his scar.  
  
“It should have been you.”  
  
Louis hears skull cracking against glass and his scar starts to burn.  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis presses the phone closer to his ear and he smiles when he hears Liam’s laughter from the other end.  
  
Liam is considerate as considerate can be, and Louis was beginning to think that maybe chivalry  _isn’t_  exactly dead, just a rare occurrence nowadays like finding good music that didn’t involve getting drunk or getting into someone’s pants, or like Zayn remembering to do his laundry every two weeks.  
  
Liam didn’t mind that he up and left the restaurant, stayed clear of it, in fact, when he decided to give him a call two days after, telling Louis that he didn’t want to bother him when there’s clearly a lot going on in his head and that he understands his need for space, and Louis can’t help but grin to himself against the hall and lean his head on the wallpaper when Liam asks him out for a drink.  
  
 _“I mean, you know, if you want,”_  Liam adds quickly.  _“If you’ve already got plans, it’s cool with me.”_  
  
“Liam, stop it,” Louis says, smile spreading, and he peels himself off the wall and makes his way to the living room in slow, steady steps, sliding his hand in his back pocket. “It’s not a very desirable attitude to give up so quickly before you got an answer, you know. Why don’t you try harder?”  
  
 _“Am I not already?”_  Liam says around a chuckle, and Louis chuckles back but it’s more like a titter, really, like he’s just been tickled, and Louis knows he’s right, Liam’s been trying, trying really hard to connect with Louis and it’s not like it’s all in vain, that Louis isn’t responding because he is, responding to him more than he ever did with anybody else, he thinks, and he’s surprised himself how comfortable he is around Liam, a bit like he is with Zayn but without the constant need to resort to insults because that’s the only way they can show their love for each other.  
  
“You are, actually. I’m sorry.”  
  
Liam laughs.  _“Now who’s the one giving up so quickly? Hypocrite.”_  
  
“Oh, lay off it,” Louis says, smile now ear to ear, and he jumps on the sofa and brings his knees to his chest, arm pulling his legs close. “I’ve already apologized, haven’t I?”  
  
 _“You don’t have to apologize to me, Louis.”_  
  
Louis bites his lip.  
  
“You don’t think I’ve been bang out of order lately? Not answering your calls and walking out on you and that?”  
  
Liam sighs from the other end and Louis slides down the length of the sofa, gazing up the ceiling.  
  
 _“Why on earth would I think that? You’ve got a life and I’ve got one too. And it don’t matter what I think. I just want to know if that’s a yes.”_  
  
“Yes on what?”  
  
Liam laughs and he slowly reiterates, dramatically articulating each syllable.  
  
 _“Would. You. Like. To. Get. A. Drink. With. Me.”_  
  
It’s Louis’s turn to laugh and he runs his hand through his hair, letting each strand fall softly around his fingers, and he waits for a moment and bites the inside of his cheek, listening to Liam’s faint breathing and he can almost feel it brushing against his skin, like he’s sitting right next to him, and at first, he thinks it’s because he’s got the phone too close to his ear or Liam’s just really anxious to get an answer out of him, and he almost laughs it off because it’s so absurd, but when he opens his mouth to reply, he feels it again, stronger this time, and before he can pull the phone away from him to see if he left a window open, he hears it loud and clear, whether it was in his ear or in his head, he’s not completely sure.  
  
All he knows is it’s Harry’s voice.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“What?” Louis whispers as he sits himself up, voice unsteady.  
  
 _“Oh, come on, don’t take the piss out of it, Lou,”_  Liam says but Louis isn’t listening.  
  
He looks over his shoulder at the hallway and squints his eyes, trying to see if there’s anything out of the ordinary, but he doesn’t see anything. There’s never anything. No sign of his hair, his hands, his green, green eyes.  
  
His heart starts to race.  
  
 _“Lou? You alright? Can you hear me?”_  
  
Louis’s breath hitches in his throat and he shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the hand coming around his neck, long fingers slowly closing around his skin and he can hear the sound of plastic beads hitting each other but it doesn’t offer the promise of safety that he’s used to, that nothing’s ever going to happen to him while Harry’s there.  
  
“Stop it Harry. Stop,” he says, voice shaking, and the hand’s grip gets tighter. He takes a sharp breath when he feels nails digging into his skin.  
  
 _“What—Harry? Lou, what’s going on? Lou?”_  
  
Liam’s voice is reduced to a dull murmur and the only thing Louis can hear is his breath, growing more erratic and desperate as the seconds tick past, and he tightens his hold around the phone when he feels the sharp sting of nails breaking skin.  
  
“Harry, please.”  
  
The phone clicks off and he hears the dial tone. Louis feels a tear rolling down his cheek.  
  
“Come with me.”  
  
He hears Zayn screaming and he can’t see anything but red.  
  
  


-

  
  
The loud banging on the door wakes Louis up and he slowly opens his eyes, still groggy, sleep clinging around his eyes.  
  
The sun’s barely shining through his curtains and it takes him a few seconds to get up and rub his eyes, would have taken longer if it weren’t for the incessant pounding on his door like there’s a fire and he didn’t hear the bell, but he knows there’s only one other person he knows who has a spare key to his flat and he doesn’t smell anything burning, so he hopes Zayn has a pretty damn good reason for waking him up at this ungodly hour.  
  
Sliding his legs across the bed and reaching his toes to the floor, he slowly drags himself towards the door.  
  
“Alright already, I’m coming, you bleeding psycho,” Louis grumbles, scratching his head and pulling the door open.  
  
Zayn stands on the other side with hard features and narrowed eyes, and Louis stares at him for a moment, trying to decipher his expression, before standing aside and gesturing inside with a flick of his hand.  
  
Zayn walks past him without a word and makes his way to the bed, and Louis can feel tension hanging in the room, thick as snow, and Louis closes the door and leans against the wood, crossing his arms and watching Zayn with careful eyes.  
  
“Not even a good morning?” Louis asks half-jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, but it goes over Zayn’s head and Zayn only looks at him with clenched jaws and a stony gaze.  
  
Louis doesn’t attempt to figure out what’s wrong because he knows him, knows him better than anyone, and it’s not uncommon for him to get moods like this and it’s usually something pointless, something with a simple solution that he’s too angry to figure out himself but still he knows he has to walk on glass because a happy Zayn means that he can get back to sleep.  
  
“What is it?” Louis asks after waiting a while for him to respond, tone getting more annoyed, and to his surprise, Zayn gets to his feet, biting his cheek like there’s a million things going on in his mind.  
  
“I’ve asked you to stop  _loads_  of times, Louis, I did,” Zayn starts sharply and Louis drops his arms to his sides, taken aback, and he watches Zayn with widening eyes. “I asked as nicely as I could and I used ‘please’ and every goddamn synonym I can find in the fucking dictionary and I hoped the least you could do was  _try_.”  
  
“What are you on about?” Louis asks, confused, and Zayn scoffs and turns away shaking his head.  
  
“ _This_  is what I fucking mean, Lou. Every time we get into a fucking conversation about it, you pretend like you have no idea what I’m talking about, like I’m speaking in another fucking language.”  
  
“Zayn, you’re making me uncomfortable,” Louis says, his muscles starting to tense.  
  
“Well, so bloody what?” Zayn replies, voice booming against the walls, and Louis starts at the sound, his chest starting to pound. “What makes  _me_  uncomfortable is that Liam’s practically  _throwing_  himself at you like a desperate fucking puppy and you don’t even have the decency to turn him down politely. Why do you insist on leading him on if you’re not interested, Lou? Why use  _Harry_  as a fucking excuse when you can just say ‘no, sorry, I’m not interested’? That’s fucked up, Louis, and you know it is, you know better than anyone that what you’re doing is fucking out of line.”  
  
Louis doesn’t realize his mouth had been open the entire time Zayn was speaking and he closes it shut and clenches his jaw, heart thrashing in his ribs, the tension around them tangible now and he can feel it constricting his throat, like a snake coiling around its prey, and he takes a step forward and looks Zayn in the eyes.  
  
“How dare you come in here and start preaching to me about something you have no fucking idea about!” Louis says incredulously, eyes flashing red. “Contrary to your fucking opinion, I like the guy, alright? I’m not fucking leading him on or playing him or whatever the fuck you think I’m doing.”  
  
He walks up to Zayn until their noses are an inch from each other and, jabbing a finger to his chest, he says with blades in his tongue, “And don’t you ever bring up Harry again, Zayn. Don’t you  _dare_.”  
  
“What, you think you’re the only one who suffered after the accident?” Zayn says, scowling. Louis keeps his ground. “Have you any idea how  _guilty_  I felt when I woke up in that hospital bed? How every fucking waking moment of my life, I blamed myself because I dragged you both out there and if we’d never went, everything would be peachy fucking keen and everything would be alright and things wouldn’t be like this? But this isn’t about me, is it? It’s about you using Harry as a fucking crutch when you want out of something and it’s ‘Harry said this’ and ‘Harry did that’ and I indulged you for a while and left you alone because you were distraught and I wanted you to feel better so you can move on with your life but  _this_ , Louis? This is not fair to _him_  and it’s not fair to Liam!”  
  
It takes Louis five seconds to try to hold himself back but his anger gets the best of him, and before he can stop it, he lands a blow across Zayn’s face and Zayn catches himself on the edge of the bed, a hand already coming up to cover the afflicted area, and Louis stands over him with his heart racing, the skin on his fist lit with fire. He’s never struck Zayn nor he Louis and the way Zayn’s picking himself up and rubbing his jaw makes his skin crawl and his eyes well up because this isn’t him, never solves his problems with his fist because it never settles anything, just creates more problems, but Zayn doesn’t give him a chance to apologize because the next second, he reciprocates the action on Louis’s face and Louis stumbles backwards, back hitting the wall, and when he lifts his eyes to meet Zayn’s, he tastes blood in his mouth.  
  
They share shocked glances for a minute and Louis is the first to break, and he lowers himself on the floor, hugging his legs, as he sobs into his knees, back shaking and chest heaving. He feels a hand on his shoulder and he takes a sharp breath, feels his stomach drop and he’s  _scared_ , but in a second he realizes there’s no malice in the touch, not like before, and he slowly lifts his head up and comes face-to-face with Zayn, eyebrows furrowed, a bruise already starting to spread on his cheek.  
  
Louis drops his eyes to the floor and wipes his face with the back of his hand, and Zayn brings his own hand to Louis’s face and rubs his thumb across his cheek, Louis wincing slightly when it touches the tender area around his jaw.  
  
“I can still hear him, Zayn,” Louis starts, voice cracked and fragile. “I can hear him loud and clear like he’s right there standing behind me.”  
  
He looks at Zayn and Zayn looks back, eyes glassy and ringed with red, and he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.  
  
“At first, it’s like everything was normal, you know? That he came back home with us from the hospital and we were fine and we could pick up where we left off and everything would be as it was. I believed it, too. Thought he  _was_  there, like it was all a dream, that it never happened at all. But lately, it’s like… When I start thinking about Liam, it’s like he’s  _angry_  at me, like I’ve stolen something from him, something I can’t give back.”  
  
He pauses and he feels Zayn move over to sit next to him, and he wraps his arm around Louis and pulls him close.  
  
“Listen to me, Lou. Harry’s  _dead_. There’s no bringing him back now. The sooner you can accept it, the sooner you can move on.”  
  
Louis can feel tears falling down his cheek and he presses his palms against his eyes.  
  
“I loved him, Zayn. I loved him so much.”  
  
Zayn shushes him and brings a hand to wipe his cheeks.  
  
“I know you did, Lou.”  
  
Louis takes a breath and closes his eyes.  
  
  


-

  
  
There’s the beeping of machines and a man in a white coat.  
  
 _“We’ve done all we can. I’m sorry.”_  
  
A white rose falls on Harry’s face.  
  
Louis swears he can hear his laugh.  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis comes back from the fridge with ice wrapped up in a towel and sits opposite Zayn across the dinner table, and they both share a smile before Zayn reaches a hand and closes his fingers on the fabric.  
  
It’s always amazed him how he and Zayn can make up faster than it took to create the problem, like it’s impossible to stay angry at each other because it creates some sort of cosmic imbalance in the world and when the day comes that they’ll drift apart, it’ll be the last day on Earth and Louis figures that if he could spend an eternity with someone, it’s going to be with Zayn like it’s always been, like it always will be.  
  
“Sorry about… you know,” Louis says, pointing at Zayn’s face, and Zayn shakes his head and presses the towel on his jaw, hiding the ugly purple blotch that Louis knows won’t disappear for weeks.  
  
“Forget about it,” Zayn replies, closing his eyes and breathing through his teeth. “Just glad you didn’t break anything. Didn’t know you can hit like that.”  
  
Louis grins. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”  
  
“Apparently. Anyway, it’s gonna be fucking boring without going to the club for a while.”  
  
Louis furrows his brows. “Are you going somewhere?”  
  
Zayn shakes his head. “Like fuck I’m going to the club looking like  _this_. And besides, shouldn’t you be clapping for joy right about now? Isn’t it your life’s purpose to get me to stop going to clubs or something?”  
  
“Oh, get off it. I only want you to stop bring different guys home every night. I mean, is it really that hard to stick to the same guy for one week?”  
  
Zayn laughs. “You don’t know how the club scene works, do you? And here I thought you were my best mate. How pathetic is that?”  
  
“Shut up,” Louis says, slapping Zayn’s arm and sending ice scattering on the table. “Not everyone was born beautiful, alright?”  
  
Zayn scoffs and puts a hand on his chest. “I take offense to that, you know. I worked my fingers down to the nub to get like this. But you ugly people won’t understand anyway so why bother explaining.”  
  
“Dick,” Louis says with a grin, picking up an ice cube and throwing it at Zayn’s face, catching him in the forehead before he could duck out of the way.  
  
“Oh, speaking of the male reproductive organ,” Zayn says as he wipes off the wetness with the back of his hand. “Liam called me yesterday.”  
  
Louis looks up at the name and guilt spreads in his chest. Zayn notices this at once, can always tell what’s going on with Louis by his eyes, and he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, locking his fingers on the table.  
  
“Don’t worry, he’s not upset. Told me about, you know, the whole Harry thing and asked me to make sure you were alright.”  
  
“That why you came today?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Louis picks at his fingernails. “He say anything else?”  
  
Zayn shifts in his seat. “Said he understands and he’ll give you space to breathe.”  
  
“I don’t know why he’s so nice to me,” Louis says with a sigh, and he can see Liam’s face in the back of his head, smile permanent. “I’ve been shit to him lately and, you’re right, it is fucked up.”  
  
“Well, you must be doing  _something_  right,” Zayn replies, and Louis looks up and finds Zayn’s eyes, a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. “Why else would he keep trying?”  
  
Louis’s smile grows to a full-blown grin because Zayn’s being uncharacteristically nice and he doesn’t remember the last time they had a talk like this, a heart to heart, and he can’t help but feel a lightness blooming in his chest.  
  
“Also,” Zayn adds, leaning across the counter, and Louis’s ears prick up, interested. “He asked me to tell you that he has a week off from work starting the day after tomorrow and, if you were up for it, he’d like to take you on a road trip, just you and him.”  
  
Zayn’s viper smile makes a reappearance and Louis stretches his lips from ear to ear, and he pushes back his chair in one quick motion and reaches for the mobile in his pocket.  
  
  


-

  
  
Rain pours on Louis’s car in sheets as he makes his way to Zayn’s flat and he grips the wheel tight until his knuckles turn white.  
  
He hasn’t been too keen on driving under severe weather conditions after the crash because it’s traumatized him somewhat, dread rising up in his chest knowing that he doesn’t have complete control of the vehicle, that any little thing can happen and he’d wind up in the hospital just like last time, or even worse, just like Harry. He tried to make Zayn drive him places if it wasn’t far or avoided it altogether, but this time he doesn’t have a choice because Zayn called him up to tell him he’s caught a fever and he can’t get out of bed.  
  
Louis keeps his eyes to the road, the windshield wipers working overtime, the radio’s volume on low, and he tries not to think of anything but the street names and stoplights, and it works for a while, the music offering a subtle distraction when his mind would wander off, but when he reaches the halfway point to Zayn’s place, a four-way stoplight, a chill runs down his spine, and he doesn’t really know if he imagined it or not (he’s been imagining so many things lately it’s difficult to differentiate them from reality), but for a split second, right before the light turned green, he thinks—no, he  _knows_  he saw Harry standing on the other side of the road.  
  
Just standing there, like a statue, hair undisturbed by the downpour, and even in the distance, Louis could see his eyes staring straight right at him, the expression behind them hard to pinpoint.  
  
Ever since the accident, he’s never seen Harry.  
  
He’s felt him, heard him, even smelled him at times, but the last time he saw Harry was when they lowered his casket in the ground, the make-up doing its job well hiding the cuts and bruises, and if Louis didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was just sleeping there, cheeks a soft pink color like it’s winter, tiny breaths hidden by the layers of his tuxedo.  
  
Why he decided to show up now of all times both confuses and scares Louis, that maybe he was right when he told Zayn that he’s losing his mind, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s all boiled down to this, all the times he thought Harry was there, slowly growing more and more malicious like weeds threatening to strangle him in his sleep. The reason’s far from crystallized in his mind, and he knows that the sensible thing to do is to forget about it and continue straight to Zayn’s flat like nothing ever happened, but there’s a reason why he saw him, he can feel it burning in his skin.  
  
Louis presses lightly on the gas pedal and, taking a deep breath, he turns right and heads for the cemetery.  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis crouches in front of the tombstone soaked through and shivering, and he holds his jacket close to his body. His breath comes out ragged and he feels the mud seeping into the knees of his pants. There’s a tree behind it, tall but not fully grown, and the leaves do little to protect him from the rain.  
  
It’s empty in the cemetery and the winds swirl the raindrops until they look like mist, and Louis brings a reluctant hand to touch the stone, running his fingers along the rough edge and inspecting the words HARRY STYLES etched on the surface.  
  
He remembers the funeral clearly as if it happened yesterday, can still hear people around him, sniffling and trying to hide their sobs in their chests, can still see the look of despair in his parents’ eyes when they lowered his coffin, can still feel Zayn’s arms around his shoulder holding him close, telling him that it’ll be alright, that they can make it through this together. He remembers coming home that night after Zayn dropped him off and crying on his bed for hours, staining the picture of them held in his hand with his tears. He remembers staying up to talk to Zayn over the phone because he didn’t want to be alone and not sleeping until five in the morning.  
  
He remembers when he heard Harry for the first time before he closed his eyes to sleep.  
  
 _“Hey, Lou.”_  
  
Louis pulls his hand back and stands up.  
  
His heart starts to race and he looks around, trying his best to keep his eyes open through the spray.  
  
He looks past trees, over tombstones, down the path leading to the entrance, and he rubs his eyes and looks harder, scanning the area around him for any sign of him because he’s convinced he didn’t just imagine the sound, that he felt the familiar breath brushing against his ear and he knows Harry’s there.  
  
“Where are you?” Louis says, voice shaky, laced with fear, and he stands still for a moment, adjusting his ears to the heavy sound of rainfall and listening for footsteps or the snapping of twigs or  _anything_  that might indicate that there’s someone there with him.  
  
“Come with me.”  
  
Louis’s breath hitches when he feels a hand coming around his neck and he freezes in place, every muscle in his body tight like they’re being pulled at each end, fiber by fiber. He tries to say something but all that comes out is a whimper, like he’s suddenly lost the ability to speak, and through his open mouth, he can feel the cold raindrops hitting his tongue like knives.  
  
“You—you’re not here,” Louis finally manages to say, shutting his eyes when he feels another hand sliding across his chest. “You’re not real.”  
  
“I’m all you need.”  
  
Louis eyes begin to sting and Harry’s hand closes over his heart.  
  
His breath starts to shake.  
  
“You’re suffocating me.”  
  
Ice water fills his lungs and there’s the sound of Harry’s laughter.  
  
  


-

  
  
_“Give me the wheel, Harry.”_  
  
Harry smiles.  
  
 _“I got it, Lou, don’t worry.”_  
  
Louis reaches for the wheel.  
  
 _“But you’re drunk.”_  
  
Zayn laughs.  
  
 _“We’re all drunk, you idiot!”_  
  
Harry grabs his hand.  
  
 _“Trust me, alright?”_  
  
Louis squeezes his hand.  
  
 _“Are you sure?”_  
  
Harry squeezes back.  
  
 _“I’ll get you home safe. I promise.”_  
  
Zayn takes a swig from his bottle.  
  
 _“How long ‘til we get there? I’m about to piss my pants.”_  
  
Louis laughs.  
  
 _“Soon, I think.”_  
  
Harry turns the wheel.  
  
 _“Yeah, just a few more—”_  
  
There’s the deafening sound of metal hitting metal.  
  
Harry’s head crashes against the windshield.  
  
The only thing Louis can see is red.  
  
  


-

  
  
Louis looks up at Liam’s face and snuggles closer, burying his face in his collarbone and inhaling his scent with a smile.  
  
It’s been a productive week and their last stop before they go back home is the beach. They went to restaurants, rode every ride in an amusement park, went shopping for clothes and things to bring back home to Zayn, rode elephants and saw a detailed exhibition of the human body at a fair, and now, they’re lying on a blanket spread across white sands, listening to the crashing waves and watching the sun throw brilliant shades of yellow and orange against the clouds as it sets over the horizon.  
  
“Did you have fun?” Liam asks, looking down at Louis, and Louis nods with a grin.  
  
“Best time I’ve had in a while.”  
  
Liam kisses his forehead and pulls him closer.  
  
“I’m really glad you came.”  
  
Louis traces geometric patterns on Liam’s stomach and watches a couple walking past, hand in hand.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
He looks up and stares in Liam’s eyes for a moment, drinking in the brown until it’s all he can see, and with a smile, he pushes himself up on his elbow and presses his lips against Liam’s, and Liam pulls him up until Louis is on top of him and they kiss until the sun’s swallowed by the sea.  
  
When they pull away, there’s a smile on Louis’s face, and he watches as Liam stands up and begins collecting their things.  
  
He hasn’t heard Harry in a week.  
  
He can breathe properly again.


End file.
